Not Too Late | Choi San

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO

happiness is a concept,
in which i don't believe.

•••

a body without a soul. abandoned and all alone.

that's what San is, an empty vessel missing it's soul, the only thing that keeps the man alive.

a broken doll, an unwanted toy. he's useless and he's worthless. he doesn't even deserve death, for dying is a luxury he doesn't deserve. he deserves pain, nothing more and nothing less.

those were the words Kim Seonghoon tried to engrave deep into San's mind and soul with his hourly torture sessions that varied from one method and to another. he made sure San heard him loud and clear whenever he belittled him, or insulted him, and San was too exhausted to fight the words away. at some point he forgot why he's here in the first place, forgot his name and just let himself fall deeper and deeper into the man's harsh arms. everything hurt that he stopped feeling a long time ago.

and the funny thing is, it's only been two days. before, San would be handed to psychos and they would do worse to him and he would still try to escape when he's back home, but right now San's as good as dead.

because back then San's happiness was nothing more than a trip to an ice cream parlour with his bruised and sad mother, but now San's happiness wasn't just an ice cream cone that tasted of sweet vanilla. San has tasted what happiness really tastes like in the form of seven amazing human beings who he cares about deeply, and having to go back was breaking him more than it should.

a servant enters the freezing cold room where San's hugging himself on the floor, his body quivering like that of a leaf in a cold winter. the bruises and scars that he's gained over the course of the past 48 hours ached horribly, doing things to his mind that he couldn't comprehend. San didn't even flinch when the male threw some clothes at him, he didn't have the power to do anything at all.

"get dressed and leave before Mr. kim comes back," the male says with a cold tone. "your time's done, but if he finds you still here when he comes back he'll want to rent you for more days. so leave."

San looks at the clothes with wavering, unfocused eyes. he inhales deeply, which hurts his chest, and tries to stand up only to fall and scream at the pain that takes all over his body. he's in too much pain to even stand up. how pathetic.

the servant ends up helping him dress and walking him towards the exit, his hand on San's waist and San's too hazed to say anything. at the door he hands San his phone and tells him to never come back.

San takes a step out of the door and his hair starts to fly at the sudden cold breeze that hits him. it's overwhelming since he's been in such a deadly dark room with no lights and nothing to warm his body with for two days. he takes another step, and then another, and then he's running and stumbling and falling and standing up again and running and running and running.

his legs hurt as well as his whole body, and the streets he's in are unfamiliar and scary, alleys too dark and streets packed with psychotic-looking people who would have no problem killing him. San thinks about going to ask someone to do it and end it all for him, but he finds his aching legs guiding him further away from these men.

he doesn't go far, however, as soon everything starts to become blurry and he's sweating too much for it to be normal. he collapses in a dark alley, and jus then his phone rings.